Porto

 

As I was back on mainland Portugal, I thought it was high time I explored a bit more of this beautiful country.  I really wanted to go back to Funchal while I have some more Schengen days, but … no, no, no.  There are other places to see.  First stop: Porto.

Porto is the second largest city in Portugal located to the north of the capital city of Lisbon.  It was a quick one-hour flight out of the city then into a cab.  My driver was a very genial man who told me all about the city as we sped along.  I mentioned wanting to live in Portugal, specifically Madeira, and he told me how he’d lived in the Azores and that I should visit.  I also learned that he’d had many jobs in his life: café owner, manufacturing, warehousing, along with being a cabbie.  Getting passed by a speeding motorcycle, I pointed out that those things are one of the many reasons I have no interest in driving in this country.  He said he used to own a motorcycle, but after a horrible accident, he had to give it up.  He wants to buy another one, but at 58 years old, his wife won’t let him.  In addition to that accident, he’d also had two others while in his other vehicle, a minivan.

Not exactly what you want to hear from the man currently driving you around.

Fortunately, we made it to the apartment without incident.  He wished me well, I wished for him to retire at some point (he was literally working 7 days a week – something I hadn’t done since my 30’s), and I set off on my next voyage of discovery as the sun set on Porto.

A keypad got me into the building while another keypad got me into the apartment.  I have to say that this is one of the strangest designs I’ve seen for a place.  The shelf for a kitchen and small dining/living area were pretty standard.  It was the spiral stairs leading down to the bedroom and bathroom that were new.

And cold. Descending into the basement area was like entering a meat locker, hence the presence of space heaters on both floors. My first few days there, it was a bit overcast and rainy which just made it so that the apartment was always cold.  I knew before I ever came to Portugal that dampness and mold is a problem in the older buildings.  But I’ve noted that none of the places I’ve stayed in have a dehumidifier to handle the issue.  That seems strange considering how much damage moisture can do.  This is the first place where I’ve really noticed the effects.

The baseboards around the bathroom are all cracked.  The bathroom door wouldn’t even close because it was too warped at the bottom.  I noted that the flooring was light wood laminate as opposed to actual hardwood because there is no way that a wood floor wouldn’t be just as warped from the moisture. 

There was always water around the sink.  Now, I knew I hadn’t splashed water everywhere every time I used it and yet the surface was always wet.  It wasn’t me.  No, everything just stayed wet after a shower.  I think that damp air settled into my lungs, resulting in yet another cold.  My horrible phlegmy cough was especially jarring during the night in the deathly quiet of that basement bedroom.

Then there’s this.  Despite having a decently sized bathroom, the washing machine is in the bedroom.

That’s just weird.

In most places, the washing machine is in the kitchen or bathroom, occasionally in a hallway.  The placement of this machine just baffles me.

Then you add the fact that the laundry took days to dry because of the damp.  Having no ability to put the clothes outside while battling the demonic cough that wouldn’t go away, I knew the damp would prevent me from extending my stay in this place.

But enough about the place.  I wasn’t in the city for the apartment.

First impressions of Porto:  it made me long for Funchal.  Not exactly fair as I’d arrived in the city at sunset and didn’t venture out to find some food until after dark.  But this city doesn’t have the same bustling feel of Lisbon – no reason it should.  Lisbon is the world-famous capital city that’s big with tourists.  If it weren’t so expensive (and I wasn’t already in love with Madeira), I could easily see living there. But Porto … not so much.

It's still Portugal, of course, and I do love this country the more I see of it.  But Porto is … it’s kinda brown.  Old and brown.  By now, I’m very familiar with the old parts in these European cities.  Part of the charm is seeing the modern structures near the ancient and crumbling.  The brownness of Porto, though, is kinda off-putting after experiencing Lisbon and Funchal. 

The city is bisected by the Douro River and is picture perfect around that area.  So, of course, it is the main draw for the tourists frequenting the cafes, bars, and shops. 

Porto is noticeably more level than Lisbon and Funchal.  But getting from my apartment to the water was sometimes ... interesting.  Depending on how you approach the journey, it can be just a slight decline,

 or it can be stairs upon stairs upon stairs. 

And then there’s this beast which is just … yeah.

Brown or not, Porto has its own charm and distinct culture.  This is francesinha, a local delicacy.  It’s a sandwich with all the meat (bacon, steak, and sausage) covered in cheese and special sauce.  Delicious, if a little salty.

One of the reasons I wanted to go somewhere new (while still remaining in Portugal) was that, unbelievably, my birthday was again approaching.  It's still hard for me to fathom that I’ve been a nomadic traveler for over a year now.  Though I am ready to be housed again, it still amazes me that I’ve adapted so easily to moving from place to place so frequently.  To celebrate my 53^rd year on this earth, I planned a relaxing day.  I had a lovely 90-minute massage then went to a restaurant near the Douro for lunch. 

As with most restaurants, the Franganito looks deceptively small from the outside.  Just a few tables set up outside makes you think it’s just a little café.  Since all the tables were occupied, I chose to sit inside.  Silly me, I forgot that this city is still very old.  The restaurant may have been an old church or something as it’s made of stone with this interesting area near the restrooms.  A very cool place to have my birthday meal.

Leaving Madeira Again

 

Well.  This part never gets any easier.

Leaving the island is hard enough.  Leaving an ideal apartment where I was very comfortable is no better.  Leaving the island and the apartment to return to the states is just …

But at least this time there were things to look forward to on this latest trip across the pond.  I had ordered some things from Amazon that were waiting at the post office.  It was also time to pick up the glasses I’d had made on my last visit.  Do those things make up for yet another expensive, butt-numbing, way-too-long trip?  Eh.  It doesn’t hurt.

Besides, I hadn’t used up all my Schengen days yet.  I would fly to the states on a round-trip ticket.  That thought definitely relieved some of my anxiety.

I’ve done way too much waiting in airports on this journey.  Since coordinating a flight from the island to Lisbon to the states required another overnighter in Madeira airport, I opted out this time.  I just couldn’t do it again.  I decided instead to leave the island at a decent hour, spend the night in Lisbon, then grab my 11 am flight the next day.

But first, leaving the apartment.  Packing up involved a lot of sighing.  It really is a great place.  I can only hope to find something else that’s comparable and won’t break my wallet. Maybe even a place that has an equally killer view (when it isn’t hazy and rainy that is).

I called an Uber and waited on the landing to watch for it.  Dude took forever but eventually he pulled up and I could immediately tell by his accent that he was not native Portuguese.  He was actually from South Africa and had lived on the island for 20 years.  I told him how I wanted to move to Funchal and, as I’ve encountered from so many people, he began to give me tips on moving there. I really do love that attitude.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Madeira airport in the daylight.  I’m always arriving after dark, dog tired and just wanting to get where I’m going.  Exiting the plane at night, the first thing you see is this wall of lights.  Really pretty at night but seeing it in the daytime makes you realize that those lights are from houses that are way too close to the airport.  This is not an area of the island that I’d want to move to.

I grabbed a cab from Lisbon Airport to the Turim Terreiro do Paco Hotel.  There are numerous Turim hotels around the city so it’s a well-established chain, but I’ve never actually stayed in a hotel in Lisbon.  I’ve always been in Airbnbs so I didn’t know what to expect from a hotel.  Located in the heart of the city, the place was nicer than I thought it would be.  Though this is the first time I’ve ever stayed in a room with a single bed, it was a nice cozy place.

Back across the pond by way of Heathrow.  Same hotel in GA, same routine.  I grabbed my mail, picked up my nifty new glasses, and hennaed my hair again.  It is looking better after two months of more conscious care – still not as good as it looked two years ago, but I am seeing progress.  The breakage has stopped and I’m seeing a lot less hair in the comb when I detangle.  One of the things I ordered off Amazon was a hair hood that can be attached to a hair dryer so I can do some deep conditioning. 

After a couple of days, it was back to the airport, but there was a problem.  My return trip to Portugal was by way of American Airlines, which routed me to Philadelphia before crossing the ocean.  I was so accustomed to heading for the international terminal that I didn’t even bother to check where the flight was actually departing.  So, in spite of being in front of the domestic terminal (the main terminal for the airport), I jumped on the international shuttle.  For those who don’t know Hartsfield, the domestic and international terminals are on opposite sides of the stupidly large airport.  Getting from one to the other requires waiting in line for a shuttle that will take you on the roughly twenty-minute trip between the two terminals.

I got off the shuttle, looking confused as I tried to find the gate for AA.  An attendant noticed me and had to regretfully inform me that American didn’t have a gate in this terminal.  I would have to take the shuttle all the way back to the main terminal to board my flight.  Oh.  Goody.

That was just … annoying.  I missed the first shuttle because another single lady had gotten in line ahead of me and ended up as the last passenger.  I got back to the main terminal and had the hardest time finding the American Airlines desk, heading in the opposite direction before finally reaching the right spot.  The kiosk wouldn’t give me my luggage tags, so I had to wait in line again.  Fortunately, after all that, the security checkpoint for my gate was just a few feet away.  Despite taking the long way to get there, I managed to make my flight with no problem.

I kinda like having a domestic flight before the international one.  It ended up being a six-hour flight from Philly instead of eight.  The less butt time on a flight, the better.  I might go with a different carrier, though.  The food on American was bad even for an airline.  It made me really miss Turkish Air.  Now they know how to do a meal service.

Word to the wise: ignore any guy asking you if you want a cab in Lisbon airport.  Despite how nice they are, the ride will cost you 2-3 times what a licensed cab or an Uber would cost you.  Ask me how I know!

As the guy was driving me in, I started tracking our progress on my phone’s GPS – just in case.  Like in Jamaica, when I got into a car with a strange man, I had concerns about being dumped on the side of the road after being robbed.  But, no, the guy got me to the hotel in one piece, taking the in-city roads (which seems to be the most direct route, just slower because of all the traffic lights). 

I had wanted to stay in the same hotel as last time but couldn’t get a room.  Turns out that the new place is even better.  If you’re ever in Lisbon, I highly recommend the VIP Executive Picoas Hotel.  That is a funky hotel with great decorations that vary with each floor.  Along with the pricey mini bar, they provide a free bottle of water every day, a robe, a comfy bed (with your choice of pillows), and a cheese plate along with a bottle of wine (red, not my favorite).  The breakfast buffet is decent for 15 euros, the highlights being the specialty coffee machine (love those!) and really good bread.  Top notch accommodation for a not-outrageous price. 

The Perfect Place?

 

In my year of travel, I’ve stayed in a handful of hotel rooms and at least 20 Airbnbs in seven countries.  In most of the places I’ve stayed, my biggest concerns are the cleanliness, the comfort of the bed, and the ease of using the kitchen.  Some places have been serviceable for only a short stay due to being too cramped or too noisy or what have you.  Some places had me attempting to extend my stay because I was so comfortable.  Some places I fled in disgust while leaving money on the table (I’m looking at you, Negril and Athens).

Then we get to the special category of places.  Ones that stand out so much that I start imagining a life lived within the walls.  Now, as much as I love Istanbul, none of the top three apartments I stayed in there (including lucky #7 in Balat) are big enough to live in long term.   I have an extensive collection of craft supplies that really need their own room.

The top place I’ve stayed in this entire year is (shocker) located in Funchal, but that apartment is way too rich for my blood (though I love it so).

Guess where the new number two place is located?

But first: getting out of the last place required waiting on Fine Ass Fabio to arrive to collect the key.  Once he did, notably not helping out with my bags this time, it was up to me to figure out how to bide my time until I could check into my new place. 

This is an issue I’ve encountered a bunch of times when I’m moving from one apartment to another in the same city.  Checkout is usually at 10 or 11 while the check-in time is 12 or 2 pm.  What to do in the interim?  This time I decided to hit a nearby brunch place to camp out and get some breakfast.

The Loft is this funky little café with boardgames and playing cards on all the tables.  They have a big menu featuring American, Portuguese, even African dishes all on the cheap.  I’d been there twice before and was eager to sample more of the menu … had they been open.  Apparently, the place was shut down for repairs (two guys appeared a few minutes after I did and started banging away at the façade).  And I’d just dragged all my crap over there.  Sigh.

The restaurant next door was open, an Italian place called Al Forno that didn’t serve breakfast.  I ordered some coffee and later a Caesar salad and garlic bread.  The meal was excellent and made the place another I’d have to visit again.

After a while, I hauled my stuff back up the street to hail one of the cabs in front of Forum Madeira.  We found our way to the other side of the city and slowly counted the house numbers until we arrived at #116.

As I whipped out my phone to get the check-in instructions, a man came down the stairs and opened the gate.  This was the host, Rodrigo, trying to give Fine Ass Fabio a run for his money.  As he grabbed my roller bag and started up the stairs, though, he mentioned how he lived next door to my place with his son.  Oh.  So much for that idea.  Not interested in single fathers, so I’d just have to enjoy the view.

Speaking of which … Hold up!  Hold up now!

The apartment is kind of amazing.  The outdoor deck, the huge bedroom, the spacious kitchen, the separate office space on the other side of the deck.  

Beautiful cherry hardwood floors.  Screens on the many windows (Europe has an issue with not providing any protection from bugs getting in the home).  No one stomping on my head. And, oh yeah.  The view.

Even my canine neighbor can't resist it.

There’s also a tiny upper deck patio that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.  I’ve already gushed about the beauty of the island, shared plenty of pictures in this blog.  But the 360-degree views from this place are on a whole other level.

Portugal still translates in English to “them hills be a b!tch”.  So while the harbor is easy to see from the street, the reason it’s so easy is because of the elevation.  Going down that bad boy is never the problem.  Coming back up though? With groceries no less?  Ew.

Yeah, I would definitely get in my daily steps living in this apartment.  Fortunately, there are bus stops just a few feet away from the front door.  Number 31 or 31A will take you directly to Pingo Doce.  Unfortunately, there are barely any sidewalks in this part of town. Going down the windy roads means that traffic is usually inches away from you at any given moment. 

I do have issues with the place.  The bathroom is a decent size with a good amount of counter space though I’d really like to have a tub instead of a corner shower.  I’d prefer a double sink to the single one in the kitchen.  I have already expressed how much I HATE induction stovetops (but at least there’s an oven).  The fridge should open in the opposite direction as the way it is now is kind of awkward.  I’m not crazy about the lights hanging from the strings.

Besides all that though, I could really see myself living in this place.  I know I had intended to live on the other side of town in one of the more modern high-rise apartments, but there are too many amenities of this location to just overlook. 

There’s a vet hospital across the street.  As I’m very much looking forward to becoming a crazy Madeiran cat lady, I already looked up the nearest shelter where I can get a couple of kittens.  I just had to figure out where I was going to put the litterbox.  The bathroom is too small and I didn’t want to put it out on the patio because I wasn’t sure I wanted the cats to have outside access.  I didn’t want them getting down to street level and risk getting run over.

Yes.  The place is that serious.  I spent the first 20 minutes just wandering around in shock.  Within the first few hours, I was figuring out where my furniture would go, what I would keep in the apartment (the sofa and dining room table), and what had to go.  I was debating the placement of the smaller bed in the bedroom – I’d want to have a bed if my stepmom came to visit, but it took up a lot of space that I could use for other things.  My mind was just racing.

There was a brief hiccup with the water heater that had me concerned.  Rodrigo was quick to get the issue fixed (he’s the one who messaged me to tell me the hot water wasn’t on).  The heater is in my apartment so it took a couple of visits from the electrician before the issue was resolved.

I was able to extend my stay for another week.  Rodrigo suggested bypassing the website for a lower price and even gave me a 30-euro discount to make up for the heater issue.  When I gave him the cash and he gave me new sheets and towels, I asked if he would consider renting the place out long term.  He said no, that he often has friends staying over to assist in his music career.  I figured as much.  I had no idea what a place like this would cost to rent on a monthly basis, but it was probably nothing compared to what he made as an Airbnb host.  Oh well.  There was no harm in asking.

Even better, Rodrigo told me he would keep an eye out for any other rentals in the area.  I let him know that I had just started the visa process, still had no job or budget for a rental, and had no idea when I would be able to move in.  I don’t know if he’ll remember me once I’m gone (he’s a somewhat forgetful man), but I do like the idea of having an inside man on the Portuguese real estate scene.   We’ll see how it pans out.

New Week, New Apartment in Funchal

 

Sigh.

Another great apartment that I had to leave.  Seriously, other than the location, that was a great place which is why I couldn’t book it for longer. But, as I always hope, the next place may be comparable or even better.

There is a bank of cabs near the Madeira Mall.  Not far from the apartment, but it was still a hoof with all my stuff.  Always fun lugging that stuff up those hills.  Grabbed a cab and had yet another experience of the guy getting me close to the location but not being quite sure where it was.  I had to message the host for the final location.  She said that her neighbor would meet me with the key.

Soon a man approached me and introduced himself as Fabio.  Of course, his name is Fabio. The man is gorgeous with a great smile.  He also speaks English very well.

Fine Ass Fabio grabbed the handle of my roller bag and showed me up to the apartment, chatting along the way.  He asked if I was a digital nomad and I had to explain that no, I’m just a nomad.  Need a job for the digital part.  He asked about my travels and I told him about visiting Costa Rica and Türkiye prior to this and how I wanted to move to Madeira.  He had also been to Istanbul and mentioned how no one speaks English.  I told him I was trying to learn Portuguese, but that I’m very dumb.  He encouraged me to keep at it.

He showed me around the apartment and we continued to chat.  We’re getting along well so, of course he mentioned that he had a girlfriend.  Yep.  That’s sounds about right.  Anyone I’m attracted to is bound to be unavailable.  Anyone attracted to me is bound to be a parasite. 

It’s not fun to be me sometimes.

The apartment is another nice one.  Somehow, I neglected to get my own pictures so this one was taken from the Airbnb website.  The place is not as spacious as my last one (one bedroom/one bath), but it makes up for that in location.  I was back to being near Forum Madeira and it is still the area I want to live in.  Still not sure I can afford it but …

Fine Ass Fabio shook my hand again and let me know that he lives downstairs if I were to need anything.  By the time I did need something, I wasn’t in the best position to ask him.

The first time I stepped into the shower, I discovered that the water refused to get warm no matter how long I kept it on.  Oh no.  I immediately had flashbacks to Jamaica.  Fortunately, the water was the only real issue with this place (unlike that shack in Negril) so I figured I’d contact the host.  Fine Ass Fabio had mentioned that she, Maria, was in South Africa.  I still chose to contact her since I didn’t have his number and wasn’t exactly sure which downstairs apartment was his.

After some back and forth, we figured out that the water heater wasn’t plugged in.  Why?  Is that really saving any energy if the apartment is unoccupied?  I don’t know since I’ve never encountered this issue before.  Once I got that sorted out, the rest of my stay was fairly uneventful except for the noise.

There was construction going on in the apartment above me.  Not fun to deal with while trying to write, but it’s pretty typical for the city.  Cranes dot the skyline all over Funchal as they did back during my first visit last year.  The first picture below is of a hotel under construction back in March.  The hotel is open now, March 2024, and looks a lot different.

There is a restaurant called Marisqueira O Barque at the beginning of the trail that serves great seafood.  Don’t go there unless you’re really hungry, though, because they will give you all the food.  Then they have the nerve to offer you the dessert menu!  I ate there the first time back in March, choosing the place again for lunch one day since it was close to the apartment.  It had been raining off and on for the last couple of days so as much as I wanted to walk, I am not a fan of being wet all day.

Had a great meal (salmon and all the vegetables), bread, a comped appetizer, a couple of drinks, a HUGE piece of cheesecake and a cappuccino.  I was stuffed and I hate feeling stuffed.  Good food though for a decent price.  I waddled over to the counter to pay.  While the lady was pulling up my bill, she asked if I wanted some of the poncha that the bartender was stirring up (just a reminder: poncha is a local drink made of fruit juices and ALL the booze).  I had already eaten too much and I had the mint in my mouth that came with the coffee.  She said it’s just poncha and dished me out a little cup.  Can I tell you that poncha don’t care ‘bout no mint?  That stuff was just as fruity and strong as ever.  Good stuff that.  Poncha!

More Funchal Fun

 

While in my seaside high-rise apartment, I had decided early on not to extend my stay.  I looked into getting into my favorite place on the other side of Funchal, but it was booked up for the next month.  Not that I’m surprised.  Still a little disappointed, though.

No matter.  There are a surprising number of rental units on the island.  As long as I could stay in the city or surrounding area and the price didn’t give me a heart attack, I was willing to explore more of the island.

I packed up and trudged to a nearby cab.  As we traveled further up the hills, the amiable cab driver asked where I was from.  He then told me that while he had been born in Madeira, he’d lived in South America for forty years before returning to the island.  The conversation turned as we both tried to find the address of the new place.

Why is this such an issue on the island?  The hosts give me an address over the Airbnb app and it is all I have to guide the cabbies. Most of the time they can find the street, but the addresses are too vague to give any clue as to where the place is. The cabbie stopped by the side of the road and I thought he was dumping me there figuring we were close enough.  I got out of the cab only to find that he had disappeared.  The hell?

Turns out he had gone to the nearby gas station to ask for directions.  We were close to the apartment, but it was one tier down the hill.  He got me there, not charging me for the time we were stopped, and helped me out with the bags.

The host’s daughter was actually standing by the gate to the apartment, waiting for the cleaning people to arrive as they were running late.  I’d already gotten permission to drop my bags off early while the apartment was cleaned. 

Getting into the building is a windy, annoying nightmare as some of the elevators don’t work.  Daughter and I found this out the hard way as we tried two separate banks of elevators before hitting one that worked.  There were two elevators but only one was in service and could only be accessed from certain floors.  There were stairs outside of the building leading to every floor except the 5^th floor.  Which is, of course, where we needed to go.  Fun! 

Disregarding that pain in the butt, the place is … awesome!  This is just the layout I want for my new place.  Two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room and a separate kitchen.  Though, I do have a few notes. 

Back to my issue with bathrooms – tub in the main bath, yay!  Half-partition on the tub, no. The door to the second bathroom opens in the wrong direction (there’s a stopper in both bathrooms to keep the door from swinging into the toilet), even when there’s plenty of room on the other side.  I would lose the bidet in the main bath for more space.

I’m also not crazy about the gray hardwood floor (I would prefer a brown shade over the gray).  The place has an oven, which is great, but it also has an induction cooktop.  I’ve encountered these things far too many times on my journey and I STILL don’t like them.  Give me a good old gas stove or even an electric range and I’m straight.   Even with my issues, the place is just what I’m looking for.

The Madeira Shopping center is in walking distance.  It is a busy living mall with a Continente located on the lower level (as Pinga Doce is like Publix in the U.S. south, Continente is more aligned with Target – even down to their logo).

While there is much to see in the mall, that’s basically all there is in the area.  It’s just a bunch of houses with the occasional store.  If you don’t have a car, it’s expected that you will take the bus or grab a cab to get anywhere.

I learned this on my first full day in the apartment when I went out to explore.  After walking a good half hour towards the water, I realized there was no easy way for me to get there.  I could clearly see the water from the apartment (there are great views all around the place), but the city was miles away down windy routes that didn’t always have sidewalks.  Since I’m still too cheap to take taxis everyday and there is no way I’m driving in Portugal (despite the number of car rental places and dealerships all over the place) I would FINALLY have to dip my toe into learning the bus system.

There are two bus stops in short walking distance from the apartment, so I picked one and took the leap.  My phone told me that the #8 would take me down to the shore for the price of 1.95 euros (why not 2 euros? I don’t know.) for a single journey. 

After a short wait, the right bus arrived.  I got on after another woman to see how to pay.  She, like most residents, used an app on her phone that she just scanned for entry.  Some others had a physical card that they scanned.  Tourist-me had to shell out the euros, then wait for my receipt and my 5 cents in change before choosing a seat.  I sat there grinning like an idiot during the journey and feeling like Lisa Simpson on her first solo bus trip.  I just hoped I didn’t get lost like her.

The Simpsons S09E24 - Lisa Takes The Bus | Answer Me These Questions 3, Area52 #thesimpsons #cartoon (youtube.com)

I made it to Funchal and, after my lunch and walk, went back to the same bus stop for the return trip.  My mistake was in not finding a bus stop on the opposite side of the street.  There is a definite stop point on the route where everyone has to get off.  We reached that point (taking me back to where I’d started my walk to the bus stop), and everyone had to get off.  At least there was one other person who’d made the same mistake and we both got back in line to reboard (and repay).  You live, you learn.

Spring in Funchal

 

This move feels weird and I can’t explain why.

Yay!  I’m returning to Madeira!  Getting out of the Turkish cold and back to the place I consider home.  Why, then, was it so hard to leave the apartment in Balat?  Why, as I was traveling to the airport and getting on a plane, did everything feel so ... off?  I wanted to think it was just because I didn’t want to deal with another airport for a while, but there was more to it than that.

Once again, I had gotten comfortable.  I didn’t want to be displaced again, not even to return to Portugal. 

Part of that sense of comfort extended to my wallet.  The housing, food, and restaurants cost mere pennies in Türkiye.  While still cheaper than the U.S., Portugal is very expensive in comparison to Türkiye.

But I didn’t want to risk having any visa issues (no problems with immigration in Istanbul) and my Schengen days had reset.  So, it was back to the place I didn’t want to leave back in November.

Five hours from Istanbul to Lisbon airport.  I had to buy a separate ticket to the island since trying to get there on one ticket required insanely long layovers in airports I’d never even heard of.  It’s still way too expensive to get to the island when you have luggage, but what are you gonna do?  It's not like I can swim there so …

Grabbed a taxi to a new place on the west side of the city.  At least this cabbie knew where the place was so we weren’t driving around looking for it like I’ve already experienced too many times on the island. I had to wait outside for maybe 10 minutes for someone to let me in.  Two ladies approached and showed me to the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

After fumbling the keys to the front door, we got inside and climbed into the tiny, cramped elevator with all my crap.  The ladies were only about 5 feet tall while I’m 5’9”. They barely spoke English; I barely spoke Portuguese.  I’m dog tired and they’re staring up at me and grinning.  The whole thing was bizarre.

We got off on the floor and they again fumbled with the keys while talking to each other and speaking through their phones to translate info to me. Turns out, it was the wrong apartment.  We’d gotten out on the 6^th floor instead of the 8^th.  As we climbed back into the elevator, the ladies gasped at each other.   We all laughed as even I figured out what they were thinking.   We were essentially trying to break into someone’s apartment.  Good thing they weren’t home. 

Got to the right floor and after even more fumbling (the locks are tricky and I had issues with them all week) we arrived at the place.  The ladies, using the bad translation device on their phones, showed me around.  I figured out pretty quickly that the place had been sitting for a while.  One of the ladies had to turn on the faucet in the bathroom just to make sure there was hot water. 

The place is … okay.  I don’t like the cold white tile, the kitchen is basically a shelf with little counterspace, and the place is just one long hallway.  The bedroom is a decent size for Europe and the bathroom has that rarest of things – a tub with a shower curtain. 

The bathroom also has a feature that I have never seen before.  You need to twist the big doorknob above the toilet to flush.  Pretty but odd.

The real star of the show is the view from the spacious balcony.  Not only do you have the ocean on the right, but the mountains to the left and the tennis court and swimming pool just below.  Very nice.

My first morning back on the island got off to a weird start.  With no food in the house, I figured I’d go out to breakfast and then shop for the basics – pretty standard for the first day in a new place.  It looked to be a lovely sunny day on Madeira until I left the apartment.  The building has motion-detecting lights just like the apartment in Istanbul.  Except these weren’t working.  I’d just arrived and wasn’t familiar with the floor layout yet so I just kept moving around in front of the apartment door to try and activate the sensors.  Nothing worked.

I flicked on the flashlight on my phone (an infinitely handy feature) and found my way to the elevator – which also didn’t work.  Now wait a minute.  I knew the power wasn’t out in the apartment as I’d had lights and the internet with no issues.  It was the just the general building that was out.  Okay.  I guess I’m taking the stairs.

Immediately upon opening the door, I nearly ran into an older man just standing in the landing.  I muttered a “bom dia” and quickly skirted around him.  I still have no idea what he was doing.  It’s not like the door locked behind me so he wasn’t waiting for someone to open it for him.  I was disoriented enough.  I couldn’t also deal with his issues.

I carefully made my way downstairs and managed to find the way out.  I made it into the bright sunshine, my opinion of the apartment getting lower by the minute, until I remembered the killer location of the building.  Just across the street is the open-air mall of Forum Madeira, there are taxis all around in case I needed them, and it’s a short walk to Jardin Panoramico, the scenic walkway by the water that I fell in love with on my first visit to the island.  What’s a little power outage in the presence of all that?

The week went by incredibly fast.  Madeira is as gorgeous as ever, reminding me every second why I want to live in Funchal.  There were a couple of issues that did mar the first few days though.

First off, Istanbul has tendrils.  That’s part of why I keep going back.  I arrived on Madeira, still on Turkish time (3 hours ahead of Portugal), and instantly lamented the lack of stray cats.  Why is it so quiet here?  Oh right. No mosques.  Not enough narrow two-way streets with cars constantly honking to get past each other either.

It’s nuts.  As soon as I arrived in Istanbul back in November, I missed Madeira.  Now that I’m back in Madeira, I miss Istanbul.  I guess it will just take me a while to get reacclimated.  Only to repeat the cycle in three months. 

And this is my life now.

The second issue resulted from my first night on the island.  I was in a new bed in a new place and it was a bit too warm for sleeping, even with the window open.  The next night I set up the fan to remedy the situation and woke up in the morning with a sore throat.  That quickly progressed into a full-blown cold as the winds picked up in the city.  Still sunny and mostly warm, but the temp changes from morning to afternoon had me battling phlegm for the first few days.

The temperature in Türkiye would get up into the high 50’s on some days.  Any day above 40 with no rain was a good day.  Madeira temps hover in the high 60’s.  So, of course, I come to the warmer clime and immediately get a cold because … yeah.

We Now Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

 

                                                                        Istanbul Airport

Yeah, well, that wasn’t the end of the matter.

After yet another flight to Istanbul, another cab ride back to the apartment in Balat that I had recently vacated, and hooking up all my electronics again, I discovered there was still more paperwork to sign.  The lawyer contacted me with news of more last-minute changes.  Glad that our communication was written out so she couldn’t see me rolling my eyes and sighing, I told her where I was and that there was no way in hell I was heading back to the states any time soon.  She suggested that the father, as the executor of the will, could sign in my stead.  Yeah.  Do that.  Whatever.

Don’t get me wrong.  I was pleased (is that the word?) to even be mentioned in the will.  My aunt and I had not seen each other in decades.  While she was technically my god-mother, neither of us had made much of an effort to stay in contact.  I only heard from her again after her husband died a few years ago. 

It’s just that repeatedly dealing with lawyers and everything being rush-rush after months of zero activity just had me kind of anxious.  It didn't help that I found out this latest news after getting off yet another long-haul flight.  I was eager to put all that away and get back to finding a life for myself.

After a few more arrangements, the matter was finally settled.  I also settled quite easily back into my routine in Türkiye.  Looking for jobs, writing, trying to finish my seemingly never-ending data analysis course on Coursera.  The usual. 

I’d added some more money to my phone's esim for Türkiye, but it turned out to be unnecessary.  Google Fi continued to work when I got off the plane.  I thought initially that they had reestablished my international service because of the new sim card I’d installed.  But, no, I bought this card after Jamaica (thanks!) before my last trip to Türkiye.  I guess they reset my roaming period after being in the states for more than a week.  Well, time to take full advantage of it before they cut me off again because, no, I have no interest in spending any more extended time in the U.S.

I’ve never called Istanbul a quiet place.  I’ve always referred to it as chaos in city form.  Below is a picture of some of that chaos.  The walk to Sultanamet from Balat is a tricky one.  The city is trying to make it easier by laying down sidewalk.  They were working on the project when I first visited the neighborhood last year and have made some progress.  The work crews are still there, though, and the area is currently even more of a mess.

 

There is a shared courtyard behind trusty #7 in Balat right outside of the bedroom.  I’ve seen people playing ball there, hanging out clothes to dry, and using the area to feed animals.  The animals are where this space becomes a problem.

The cats are everywhere in this city and are a big part of its charm.  Not so much when they are screeching in the middle of the night, particularly during this time of year.  Spring is almost here.  Time to make little cats.  It’s one thing to hear a single cat in heat outside of my house in Georgia.  It’s an entirely other matter to hear multiple cats all around the apartment in surround sound.

The birds are another part of what makes the city special.  The seagulls are a welcome part of the skyline, hovering over the water or fighting with each other over scraps of bread on the ground.  But when they all decide to squawk at the same time, I swear the sound makes me feel like I’m in the jungles of Costa Rica again.

And then there’s that damn rooster.  There’s a chicken coop in that same courtyard.  Every morning, before the call to prayer, after the call, sometimes during the call, that rooster is making a ruckus.  Like I wasn’t already awake.

I really need to kill that bird.  Kill it, eat it, and mount its head on the wall of my new apartment.

Add all of this noise to the honking cars, the snoring of one of my neighbors, and the regular calls to prayer and sleep was not always the easiest thing to do in that apartment.  This left me with too much time to think when all I wanted to do was sleep.

I’d think about all the places I’ve been, about how razor sharp my memory has become over the last year.  Some random event will pop into my head like a road I passed through or a meal I had and instantly I would know where I was when those things happened.  I’d end up giggling in the dark at the memory.

But the good thoughts would only last so long and then I’d be plunged into existential dread.  I still want a stable home, but to attain one I need a steady job.  Multiple sources have described this as a particularly horrible job market.  The rise of AI concerns me while I try to establish a writing career as does my struggle to stay focused.

Living in Portugal is still the goal, but I know full well that the country doesn’t care about my plans.  There have been a lot of changes in the government recently that I’ve been monitoring.  They look to end their tax incentive programs for foreigners if they haven’t done so already.  The price of everything is rising there as it is everywhere.  I don’t know if I’ll make enough at the job I don’t even have yet to survive there.

I’m doing okay for money so far and for that I’m grateful.  I know there are people who are seriously struggling right now.  But, with nothing coming in, the money will eventually run out.  I don’t want to get so desperate for a job that I end up back in the states having to start over from scratch.  And even if I did move back, getting a job is still not a guarantee.   

The world still feels like it’s heading straight into the crapper, doesn’t matter where I am when it happens.

I sometimes feel like I’m on the cusp of figuring things out, but I just can’t make all the right connections.

I don’t know.  Being alone so much has my mind racing sometimes. 

Fortunately, the days keep me too occupied to worry so much.  Just navigating the streets of Balat is a full-body, deep thought endeavor.

Handling Some Business in the States

 

Time for another mini tantrum.

I did not want to leave Türkiye so soon, particularly because I was still fuzzy on the visa restrictions about coming back.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, the country dropped its visa requirements for Americans and I wasn’t sure how that would affect me.  My Schengen days weren’t quite reset yet and I wasn’t interested in staying in the states for too long.

I’d already paid for another week in the apartment.  Yes, the cost for accommodation is pretty cheap in Istanbul, comparatively speaking, but that’s still money I didn’t want to leave on the table. 

And, as always, there was the whole mishigas of navigating airports, getting on yet another international flight, and returning to the states – things I wasn’t ready to do yet.  The whole situation put me in a foul mood.

Still, I packed up and headed to the airport.  I was slightly wary considering the wrong turns my last taxi driver made in taking me to the cargo loading area for Turkish Air, but this trip went off without a hitch. 

Something to note that I encountered at the airport.  I wanted to have one last simit before I left the country, so I picked one up at Simit Sarayi (translation:  Bagel Palace, a local chain).  A simit on any street in Istanbul is ten lira – the equivalent of 33 cents USD.  At the airport it cost 65 lira.  I know airports put a markup on all their goods, but selling a single bagel for six times the normal amount should be illegal.  The cappuccino I ordered was even worse – it ended up costing more than the entire breakfast I’d had that morning.

Highway robbery, I tell you! (Airport robbery? – whatever)

Back in the states (sigh), I landed in Raleigh, North Carolina as opposed to ATL.  This was a new airport for me and I hadn’t been in Raleigh since I was a kid so I had no idea what to expect.  Knowing I was heading to ATL afterwards, I didn’t bother to rent a car for this short trip.  Those things are expensive and I had no interest in trying to navigate a new city. 

I specifically chose a hotel that provided shuttle service from the airport and was located close to the law office.  I stood outside the airport in the bracing night air, waiting for a shuttle that never came.  It was after midnight after all and I had no idea how late the shuttle ran.  After a good twenty minutes, I said “screw it” and called an Uber.  I figured it was a gamble to find anyone driving this late at night but Iucked out.  A dude picked me up and deposited me at the hotel a few miles away.

The hotel did have a shuttle service that came in handy when it was time for my appointment the next day.  I was trying to catch an Uber but the app wouldn’t work for some reason.  Hey, free transport is always better, although dinghy me didn’t get the guy’s number so I could call him to pick me up afterwards.  The law office was indeed close to the hotel, but it was bit of a hoof.  Oh well.  Since Uber still wasn’t working after my appointment, I figured I had nothing else to do with my day.  The weather was reasonable, so I got on the good foot.

Fortunately for me, most of the trip had sidewalks and there were plenty of commercial areas along the way.  I stopped for lunch and bought some books for the trip back to Europe.

The next day it was back to Atlanta and all that involves.  At least this time I arrived on a domestic flight, so no international shuttle or customs to deal with.  I’d also arrived in the afternoon, so plenty of time and daylight to get my business done.

The Raleigh Marriott was almost identical to the hotel I stay in while in Georgia, right down to the area where they serve free breakfast every morning.  There’s always a TV playing in that area that I do my best to avoid.  It serves as a reminder of all I leave behind when I board a plane to cross the pond.

The headline in North Carolina was a couple of women who got shot while walking in their neighborhood.  As far as I can tell, the attack was unprovoked.  I tried to do some more research on the aftermath while writing this post but … sigh.  Apparently, I wasn’t specific enough on which shooting I wanted to investigate.  There were so many reports of shootings that happened in Raleigh in February 2024 that I couldn’t narrow it down to the one I was looking for.

Switching to the TV in Atlanta, I knew ahead of time to ignore everything on screen.  That TV seems to perpetually be stuck on Fox News spewing some garbage.  Then the commercials for divorce lawyers and prescription drugs assault my ears and I find myself eating faster just to escape the noise. 

Anyway, on to the business of being in Atlanta.  I already posted about doing my hair, an all-day activity.  I also got my eyes checked, which I hate doing, but my eyeglasses are looking a little worn.  Time for a new prescription, especially considering that the last one was from 2019 after I lost my glasses in the ocean in Mexico (good times).  The sight in my right eye is slightly better this trip.  I’m used to my eyes getting worse with age, so this was a bit of good news.

I also got my taxes done in an office after trying to do them on my own.  Since last year was … unusual to say the least, I was a little lost on what paperwork I’d need to show.  I stopped by a tax office to find this out, had to go back through all the paperwork I could find, then bring all of it back to that office.  It took a minute to do, but at least that’s out of the way.

The rest of my week-long stay was my own so I found ways to keep myself busy while I pondered my next move.  That Saturday was particularly gorgeous so I decided to take a walk along the Noonday Creek trail.  The entrance to the trail is not far from the hotel though I’d only discovered that the last time I was there.  Unlike my previous exploration, I followed the trail all the way to the end this time and was stunned to find myself on Main Street Woodstock.

I stopped at a crowded burger place for lunch (not bad) between bouts of just wandering the area.  The heart of Woodstock has been set up like the walkable city it used to be when first established.  Apartment complexes and condos are sprouting up all around the restaurants and small boutiques that line the street. Still no grocery stores in walking distance, though.  That was the only thing really missing from this setup, but otherwise it was pretty idyllic.

Walking along the trail on the sunny day, I’ll be damned if Woodstock wasn’t charming me again.  It reminded me why I have always referred to the place as fair Woodstock.  It was such a nice day, it made me think that maybe the world wasn’t burning.  Maybe the U.S. is not so different from Türkiye or Portugal, that it was, in fact, livable. This place is really nice.  Maybe I should move here!

No.  No.  No.  No.  It’s still too expensive and violent in this country.  Without my high-paying job, I couldn’t even afford the house I just sold last year.  And I have no interest in finding another corporate job just to maintain the house.

I didn’t sell that house and leave the area because it had gotten run-down or because I grew to hate it.  I still love fair Woodstock.  Just not enough to stay.

So, after accruing an expensive week-long car rental bill and an even more expensive hotel bill, I paid for an equally extravagant plane ticket and headed back to the airport.  I was in line to check my bag and got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It seems there was even more paperwork to sign.  Seriously? Not only had I flown in from Türkiye to sign papers in Raleigh, I’d had to electronically sign more a couple of days later.  I had been in Atlanta for a week and considered that business settled.  Now, I’m literally at the airport about to leave the country and this comes up again? And, just like the last two times, I was expected to drop everything to get this done yesterday.  People do have lives you know!

Needless to say, I was a little perturbed.  I whipped out the computer at the airport, signed the papers (again) and boarded my flight hoping that was the end of the matter.